Dying To Please
by QueenOfTheUniverse
Summary: NG.When Nick leaves for a camping trip post GD with his dad, Greg’s world crumbles around him and he finds himself struggling to survive in a new job that’s slowly killing him over time. Will someone find him before it’s too late? Noncon angst fluff


CSI: Dying To Please: one shot

A/N: I promise to get the epilogue to Live and Love posted as soon as possible but this plot bunny appeared in my brain yesterday morning and just wouldn't leave.

WARNING: This is a VERY DARK story not meant for the faint of heart.

OTL, please don't kidnap Greg from me, I really do love him! Also, although this isn't the smut everyone wants, it does cross the line into things I said I would never write. This is only half consensual, because sometimes, you have to do things to survive you might not want to do. You have been warned.

* * *

"Please!" I whisper, trying to let my voice carry to his ears without making it's scratchiness worse. "Please! Just a dollar!" I've been reduced to begging these days. "Something, anything..."

But the man doesn't seem to care. His wide grin from a few minutes ago turns into a sneer as he zips up his pants and turns to leave.

"You weren't that good," he says and turns to walk out.

On another dirty mattress on the other side of the plastic sheet dividing us another man is getting paid. I don't even know his name. I know I will never get out of here. I only work for tips, my boss makes the real dough and he doesn't share. I keep wondering how I got here, but these days it doesn't matter anymore. I know it was Ecklie who fired me, that Grissom had nothing to do with it. I know why he fired me too, and yes, it was wrong, but there was no one to stand behind me, to back me up, because no one knew what was going on. And the next day my landlord says the whole building's evicted so he can build condos there instead of our tiny low rent apartments.

And now I'm here. In this dump of an old building. I see rats all the time. There's never any food. The plumbing doesn't work. The plaster is falling apart, there's holes in the walls, where small animals have died behind the sheet rock. Clear plastic sheeting has been duck-taped to the ceiling to provide some form of walls for privacy for the clients. This is my job now, catering to men who can't get it on their own. This is where I live because there is nowhere else. And I never know when I might be able to turn a buck. Must avail myself twenty-four/seven.

I see him coming towards me, eyeing me like a piece of candy. And maybe I am. And maybe I can please him enough that he'll pay me something decent for my efforts. But I doubt it. I learned long ago not to get my hopes up in this dingy place. My boss approaches him and he points in my direction. I can see the large bills swap hands before he comes over to me. He has no reason to pay me. None of them do after paying my boss's fee. He looks like all the others, just a man looking for a good fuck to get off on. That's all he is. That, and my possible meal ticket.

I'm still on my knees from my last customer and he doesn't seem to want any different as he lowers his pants for me. I do my best not to sigh. I am here to please him as best I can. I need to eat soon or I feel like I might pass out. He's waiting and hard as I take him and work my pleasuring magic upon his member. My tongue works expertly and I can hear his moans of agreement. He didn't tell me if he wanted this quick or not so I decide to take my time with him. Sometimes men pay more if I go slow, let them go into agony until they just can't hold it back any longer.

I really have my boyfriend to thank for all of my physical talents. Ex-boyfriend now, I suppose. He taught me everything I know, though I don't think he ever figured I'd end up in a place like this. He's probably back home now, and hopefully he's forgotten all about me. He won't find me here. No one will. I can't even remember when I saw him last. Must have been a few months ago by now. Time slips by these days and I can hardly tell one day from the next. I think it's late December, the way it gets so cold at night with no heat and all the windows broken, letting in the frigid air. But I'm only guessing. I miss him. Thinking about him brings tears to my eyes, but no one ever seems to notice or to care. If I know the man I'm pleasuring has money, I try to imagine he's my boyfriend so that I'll do my best on him, in hopes that he'll pay well. I feel horrible and ugly inside afterwards, but sometimes it does pay off and I can find some food.

I keep my tongue moving over, under, and around him, as my customer moans louder and begins to grunt.

"Oh yeeeeaaaahhhhh!"

He's getting off, enjoying this, which means I'm doing a good job. Maybe he'll come back again after I'm done. Maybe he won't want to leave for awhile after this. There are other ways I can please him and I hope he takes me up on my silent offer. Any chance for a payment I'll take and it might keep me warm for a little while.

There are days when I wonder what the hell I'm doing here. I was born a chemist. I went to Stanford and I ended up here, in this dump. I only own the clothes on my back, which only amounts to a pair of jeans since my shirt got ripped to shreds last month by an upset customer. I almost got tossed out of here for doing a bad job. The shirt was my only protection, hiding what I really look like, with all the bruises on my chest and back from customers, from tripping and falling. I bruise easily now and I have horrible balance. I can't even walk straight without bumping into something. Some people turn away from me because they don't like to see ribs. I promise I'll do a good job, but they don't want me anyway.

I've been reduced to begging. I'm lonely on the inside and it hurts. I do my best with my current customer even with the tears free flowing down my cheeks. My boss won't be happy if he catches me. No one will want me if I'm a crying mess and he'll lose out on the money I could be bringing in. But the customers only notice my tears when they're choosing which of us they want to fuck for an hour anyway, and by then I'll make sure they're gone. This man is too much into what my mouth is doing to care about my eyes and the salty water leaking from them.

A hard hand lands on the side of my head and I almost fall over.

"Speed it up Bitch!" my customer yells.

I can do nothing but obey.

Sometimes when I make money and I feel I can leave without losing my mattress to another body ripe for harvesting of sexual needs, I try to find food. Though usually it's only broken glass I find around here and I wonder what it would be like to end it all. This is no way to live. I don't call it living. It's existing. And nothing more. I have no friends. My old coworkers I haven't seen since my last night on the job. I don't even think I went back to clean out my locker. It's a wonder I haven't seen them at a crime scene around here. This area is ripe for that. Plenty of gun running and drugs too. I don't do those. Can't afford it. The glass would be an easier, cheaper escape if I really wanted it. I don't know why I still hang on to my small existence.

I'm sick already anyway, without the drugs. I know I am. I do my best to hide it, but I know something's wrong with me. I can feel it in my chest. Sometimes my breathing isn't right. I have a scratchy throat. I'm barely hanging on sometimes. My head hurts a lot, and I get chills when it's a hundred degrees outside, and the sweats when it's forty. Maybe I'm dying and maybe I won't need the glass soon. I can just ride this out, right? My stomach hurts from being empty for so long. The pain building in my chest right now will go away in a few minutes. But I know it'll come back later and I wonder how much more of this I can take. Can I ride it out? Let myself go as naturally as possible? Suicide isn't any easier than this as much as people want to believe.

The man grabs my hair, entwining his fingers in my now long, curly locks, ensuring I stay put as he begins to buck his hips into my mouth, thrusting deep into my sore throat. I keep my tongue moving to please him better. I know it's this job that's slowly killing me, but I have nothing else. If I can't please men the way they want then for sure I will die. This is the only chance I have of making any money now, of getting any food. I have a mattress here, I can sleep a little when I'm sure no customers will come calling.

I miss my boyfriend. I love him. I wish nothing had happened to him. That he hadn't been kidnaped and buried alive. Then he wouldn't have gone to Texas for a month long camping trip with his dad to help him recover. I remember that week after we'd gotten him back, I had him all to myself as his family worked out plans to take him home. He felt better when he left me, though camping wasn't what he really wanted to do. He told me himself all he wanted was to stay with me but that he had to please his family too. When he left, he told me he loved me, and that was the last I heard from him.

I was fired the day after he left. Conrad told me it was because there was no other shift to put me on and that because Nick and I were together we couldn't work together. Of course, Nick was the better CSI who'd just gone through a hell of a traumatic experience so he couldn't fire him. That left me. Things spiraled out of control after that. I had two days to move out of my home. I couldn't tell my friends what was going on. It was too embarrassing. Ecklie fired me because I was dating Nick. And there wasn't anything I could do about it. Though I don't really remember how I ended up here.

There's a long, hot spurt into my mouth, sliding down my throat and I realize my customer has cum. I've made him happy, I hope. Making sure I have gotten everything, I let him go and look up at him through my long lashes to see how pleased he is.

"You weren't half bad," he says with a satisfied smile. "Too bad you're not half bad looking, otherwise I'd consider taking you home with me. I can always use a personal servant around the house."

That would mean a proper bed to sleep in. Food, clothing, shelter. All the things I need.

"I can do that for you! I would be happy to!" I find myself begging.

He looks at me with a funny look when he hears my raspy voice that sounds worse than a six pack-a-day smoker's.

"You're too thin and bruised for my liking. If I'm going to have all around sex I want him to be healthy. You're going to take a lot of work. Too much work to get you up to my standards. And I don't think you'd even make it half way there no matter how hard I worked on you. Sorry." He zips up and walks away without a second glance.

I hang my head, staring at my bruised knees. I hardly notice the constant pain they hold after kneeling on them for so many hours a day. I hardly notice anything these days.

But then a voice catches my ear. It's desperate. Someone's looking for somebody. I don't even bother to look up. This is normal. Usually a mother looking for her lost child around here. I wish it wasn't normal, that there was something I could do, but there isn't anything. Not in my condition.

I'm waiting for my next client, trying my best to steady my breathing, and stop the hitch every time I breathe in. I need to be collected in order to attract the next man that walks in.

"Have you seen him?!" it's a man's voice. He's sounds desperate and heartbroken.

I can hear others saying no. No, they haven't seen whoever he's looking for. But one voice changes, says he doesn't look like the picture anymore. I sigh, it's all background noise for me. I just can't help listening in. I have nothing else to do until my next client.

A new pair of feet are now walking into the room and I look up in a submissive gesture, intent on feeling alert, feeling good about the services I can provide, so maybe he'll take me up on my offer.

I see him, but I don't believe him. I drop my eyes to stare at my knees again. No! It can't possibly be! I thought I'd never see him again. I don't want him to see me this way, this wasted. This far gone from life.

"Greg?" his thick Texan accent falls beautifully on my ears as he falls to his own knees beside me. "Oh my God, Greg?"

Tears are rolling down my face again, but I can't bear to look up at him. I'm too ashamed of who I've become. Of what I've become. I shake my head, wishing he'd go away. But I know he won't. And I don't want him to. In his hands I see a bunch of fliers. A missing person he'd been looking for. And I remember that picture, the day it was taken, when we'd had our first year anniversary. I'm sobbing now, realizing that he's been looking for me. Me.

"Greg, honey, please say something!" he begs me.

"I lost it," my hoarse, gritty voice whispers. I haven't really used it in so long, I'm so sick I can hardly talk anymore. "I lost it," I manage again, my voice this time a little stronger. "And you weren't there."

"Oh, baby, it's ok. Everything's going to be ok. I'm gonna get you out of here. Ok?"

I want to feel his arms around me so bad, but my life is gone now. I'm too sick. I've missed him so much. I needed to see him so long ago and I couldn't. I'm dying and I'm not sure I want to break his heart with that news. It would probably be best if he left me here.

Nick doesn't wait for an answer, only scoops me up into his arms and begins to walk out. My boss is not happy. I can hear him complaining.

"There's a line of men waiting for that spot outside. Take one of them. You're not getting Greg back."

"Greg?"

My boss is confused. In this business no one cares about your name. They just care if you can give a good fuck or not.

I burrow my head into the crook of Nick's neck, as my breathing starts to hitch and wheeze again. Nick holds me tighter in his arms as we head for the truck parked across the street. He's so comfortable, I wish he would never let go.

* * *

The next thing I know everything looks white and sterile. I wonder where my boss is and how I ended up here. I can't help but think about how I surely must have lost my mattress now, which means I lost my job, the only meal ticket I had. I can hear voices not too far away and I struggle to hear what they're saying.

"Is he going to be ok?"

It's Nick! And I remember him finding me there, kneeling on the dirty mattress waiting for my next customer. I can feel the shame of it all wash over me. The job, I know how I got it. I wasn't given a choice. Things couldn't have gotten any worse after losing my CSI position and then being evicted. But they did. I got drunk, because I was so upset and couldn't contact Nicky. And then I had to hit this guy's BMW. Busted it up big time. He cleaned out my bank account and that alone didn't cover the cost of the car. He left me with no home, no money, and no job. I had nothing. I was grateful when my boss took me in. At least there was a roof over my head.

"You caught him at death's door," someone else is saying. "He's one lucky man. It'll take some time, but I think there's a chance he'll pull through. I've got an IV in him now. He's horribly dehydrated and it doesn't look like he's eaten in days at least. Nothing substantial in a few weeks probably. And some of those bruises are weeks old from what I can tell. We'll keep him on oxygen for awhile, see if that can't help regulate his breathing. There's a lot wrong with him. I'm guessing he's been sick for a long time and nothing was ever done to help him. We'll just have to heal things as they're uncovered."

"Ok, thank you doctor."

I hear footsteps walk away and silence reigns over the room. I feel cold and alone. I don't want to be here. I don't like it here. I'll have to pay them for taking care of me and I can't do that. Even if my boss took me back not all of the men I could pleasure in a year could pay for this.

I don't want to be alone. But I know what I did. I know how dirty and used I am. My last customer wouldn't even take me as his personal servant. I'm that broken. I want nothing but comfort from the one man I love, but do I deserve it? He's so perfect and clean. I don't want him to touch me. I don't want to dirty him too.

"Nicky?" I manage, my voice still not working properly.

He's by my side.

"Shhhh, don't talk baby. Everything's going to be ok. We got you here in time. Just don't talk."

I can feel the tears slipping down my face as I look up into his warm, loving, brown eyes. Does he still love me? I could have waited for him. I could have camped out on his doorstep until he got back from his camping trip instead of wandering the city like a homeless man until I found my boss. Why didn't I? I feel hollow inside. I don't know what I should be doing. I feel like I've forgotten the chemistry and the biology. All I can remember is the pleasuring. And I can still taste the bitterness of my last customer in my mouth. Many months ago I would have cringed, knowing it wasn't the taste of Nick and knowing in a few moments there would be yet another man taking the place of the one who'd just left. But I'm used to it now.

"You know I've been looking for you ever since I got back from that dumb camping trip. I'm so sorry things happened the way they did, Greg. I knew I shouldn't have left. Or I should have at least given you the key to my place. I know they fired you because of us. I quit when they gave me the stuff from your locker and finally told me what happened. I've been using what little I had saved up to spend my time looking for you."

He's leaning over me and I see him raise his hand and he's brushing my tears away as his own are falling from his eyes. I can barely feel his gentle fingers against my bruised skin. He moves a lock of my hair out of my face.

"I'm too sick," I whisper.

"Shhh, it's ok. Don't talk now. Just rest."

"No, Nick. I'm dying. I know I am. You know where I was, you know what I was doing for money. You know."

"No baby, you're not gonna die. The doctor said you're going to be just fine."

But he's wrong. I don't want to break his heart. But my life's gone. I can feel my chest tighten in pain and with a sharp intake of breath I can hear the hitch and the wheeze, and suddenly, I can't breathe. I can't breathe. The realization sinks in. My stomach hurts and I'm shivering worse than ever before. Is this what it feels like to die?

In my last escaping breath I manage a few words I have to get out, "I love you, Nicky."

The long steady beep of the heart monitor is the last thing I hear as my world goes black.

* * *

When I open my eyes the room is dark. Am I waiting at the gates to heaven? I thought they would be whiter, brighter. But no. This must be the gates to hell after what I've been doing. I feel a cold shiver run up my body and I try to hug myself to keep warm as I lie on my side. It feels like I'm in a comfortable bed. But it's so dark out I can't tell.

"Hey," a quiet voice says from behind me as a warm arm wraps itself around me, holding me close, keeping me warm. I jump a little at the initial contact. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. You were having a nightmare and I couldn't wake you up."

Nick. It's Nick. He's behind me. I'm at his apartment, sleeping in his bed with him. I reach an arm out and study it in the darkness, but I can't see much. I touch it with my hand, afraid to turn on the light, least I see something I don't want to. But I can't feel my bones. Nothing hurts. I stop and think... Nothing hurts!

"Nicky?" my voice is normal.

"Yeah honey?"

I turn over in his arms to face him. He's there. Nothing happened. It was all just a dream. I'm ok. We're ok. I burrow deeper into him beneath the covers welcoming the warmth from his body.

"Please, just don't leave me. I don't want to lose you again," I whimper without meaning to sound so dejected. He was the one in the box after all. I couldn't expect him to take care of me after only having a nightmare. He'd lived a nightmare and I had to take care of him too.

"I won't baby. I won't. My Dad thought it would be a good idea if I went home with them tomorrow to go camping with him for a whole month, you know, get away from it all after what happened."

Fear is rising within me. He would go away, Ecklie would fire me, and I'd be evicted with no way to talk to tell him. No, it couldn't really be happening. It couldn't.

"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

I try not to panic.

"He only just asked this afternoon. I know I need to please my parents and if they want me to go home for a little bit I really should go."

My stomach tightens and I can feel my nerves kicking up. No! He isn't going to leave me! He wouldn't!

"But I told him no."

"What?"

Had I heard him correctly?

"He's a little pissed. But you're what I really need. I need you too much and I love you too much to be apart from you for so long. You're the half that makes me whole, Greg. How could I leave you for that long?"

Relief and happiness flood throughout my whole body.

"Thank you," I whisper, relaxing into the soothing touch of his hands rubbing my back.

* * *

White. Sterile. Where am I? Where's Nick's bedroom? I thought I was with Nick. What the hell is going on?

"How are you feeling?" someone asks me.

I look up into a kind face I've never seen before. Is that a lab coat? I'm at the lab. And this is the new person who was hired to take my place in DNA so that I could join Nick in the field. Right?

"I'm..." I stop. My voice is all wrong, all scratchy.

My lungs are struggling to take in the air I need to breathe.

"Just relax," the man says. "You left us there for a little bit but we brought you back. You're going to be ok, though it's going to take awhile. I would strongly suggest you don't talk, let your throat heal. And try to breathe evenly. Your lungs aren't doing so good right now. But don't worry. We'll have you up and walking in no time. Ok?"

I nod. I'm back in the hospital. It wasn't a dream. I did leave this world and my sleeping with Nick was the dream.

The doctor smiles at me before nodding to someone else in the room. He leaves and Nick is by my side again, taking my thin bony hand with its long piano fingers in his.

"I love you too," he says. "And you're not leaving me that easily. I only just found you and I don't intend on letting you go any time soon. So don't try to check out on me again. At least not until you're an old man."

That's the best thing I've heard in a long time. I try to laugh but can only manage a smile. He really is the only person who can make me truly happy. I'm glad he's here, glad he found me. I feel a cold shiver run up my spine and the next thing I know Nick's lying beside me on the bed, with his arm around me. My breathing hitches and I let out a wheeze.

"Just breathe easy, take it slow," Nick coaches, moving his hand to rest gently on my chest so he can feel me breathing.

As my lungs calm down and my breathing slows I can feel the weight of sleep coming over me. I can't remember the last time I was allowed to sleep. Men seem to like my looks when I'm sleeping and enjoy waking me up for a fuck.

"Shhhh, just rest baby," Nick's soothing whisper calms my sudden, erratic heartbeat and lulls me deeper into sleep. "I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise."

And the last thing I feel before a deep sleep takes over is his warm lips brushing against my forehead.

I love you, Nicky. So, so, so much...


End file.
